Stuck on You
by caeli1701
Summary: Written pre-series 5. Romance/Fluff. Jimmy's burned hands itch and he wants Thomas to distract him.


**A/N:** Written pre-series 5. This is a ficlet for Flippyspoon's birthday! She requested fluff about the fire, and this is what I came up with :)

...

Thomas found Jimmy lying on his belly in bed, his bandaged hands hanging as far away from his body as he could get them.

"Not any better today, then?" Thomas asked, setting the tea tray down on Jimmy's nightstand.

"_Nooo,_" Jimmy moaned. "They _still_ feel like they're on bloody fire, only now they itch like hell, too."

Thomas quirked a brow. "S'what you get for sticking your hands in a blazing inferno,"

_"Ugh_."

"You'll be alright soon," Thomas reassured him. "The burns weren't as bad as they could have been. Dr. Clarkson said you might not scar at all."

"But they _hurt_, and they itch," He rolled over on his back and demonstrated by scratching at the bandages with far too much vigor; Thomas was alarmed to see blushes of pink through the gauze.

"Stop, you'll hurt yourself!"

When Jimmy just kept going Thomas stepped forward and seized Jimmy's wrists, pulling his hands apart. "_Stop_ that, please."

Jimmy stared up at him, lips parted in surprise. Thomas realized a beat too late what he'd done—grabbing Jimmy without permission, now leaning over him in bed… Chagrined, he let go quickly and stepped back, his stomach twisting unhappily. He _never_ touched Jimmy, and hadn't since he'd thrown him away from those robbers so long ago. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten even for a moment.

"Ah… I'm sorry." He looked at the wall instead of Jimmy.

There was tense silence for a moment, then Jimmy cleared his throat and said roughly, "It's alright."

Thomas glanced at him to see if they might sweep the awkwardness away with a joke, but what he saw made him swallow his words. Jimmy was looking at him with an oddly _concentrated_ expression, and his cheeks were suddenly fever-colored.

"Shouldn't have been scratching, I know that," Jimmy admitted in a strange tone. "Think I made it hurt worse, but I couldn't help it. Maybe… maybe you could stay and distract me tonight, Mr. Barrow, to make certain I don't do it again."

Thomas blinked at him, frowning. "You shouldn't scratch at all, Jimmy, whether I'm here or not."

Jimmy's flush darkened, spreading down his neck. "No, I mean but if I do—_if_ I do you can stop me." He paused. "…Like you did just now. I don't mind if you… grab hold of me, again."

Thomas felt as if were missing a vital piece of the conversation; Jimmy couldn't be saying what it sounded like he was saying. Thomas eyed him warily, wondering if he were having a go at him.

"Don't be daft," he said tightly. "I was a medic in the war and I know plenty about burns and injuries. You should never scratch or irritate a wound. Now I'll have to have a look at it, or fetch Dr. Clarkson again—"

Jimmy groaned loudly and flopped back down on the bed, tossing his arms over his eyes. "Sod it, never mind."

_So much for having a friendly chat tonight_, Thomas thought, bewildered. He couldn't help but feel a little stung by Jimmy's behavior. If this were any other night he would suggest they play blackjack or something to smooth things over, but Jimmy couldn't hold the cards with his burned fingers.

"Fancy a crossword?" Thomas asked instead. Jimmy loved the crossword.

But Jimmy snorted, his face still covered.

"Or I could read the newspaper, let you know about the ponies."

Still no response.

"Well, what would you like to do then, for a 'distraction'?" Thomas asked, annoyed now. "We can't go out, and you still haven't touched your dinner. Perhaps I should have a look at your hands now and then go—"

Suddenly Jimmy seemed to explode, like a balloon pricked with a pin. He let out his breath in a long _whoosh_ and rolled out of bed, holding his burned hands up like he were surrendering to the police. For a moment he just stood there, staring at Thomas with some hard emotion in his eyes. Thomas tensed —for a blow, or something like it. Instead Jimmy took three short steps, pushed up against Thomas, and kissed him on the mouth.

Thomas was too shocked to respond—he stood frozen in place, unable even to kiss back. As soon as Jimmy pulled away Thomas heard himself say, "…_What?_" very stupidly.

Jimmy ducked his head and hid his face again, only this time it was into Thomas's collar bone. "Didn't you know already?" he groaned.

"No." Thomas still couldn't think.

"I've been—I've been stuck on you for, for _forever_. I've been trying to get you to do something about it but you never bloody _would_, so I had to."

Dizzy, Thomas thought back over the months and saw… well, there had been some odd moments, hadn't there, when the two of them were on their own and Jimmy was so playful and affectionate—but Thomas had never dared to hope a second time.

But _now…_

Hardly breathing, Thomas touched Jimmy's hair, feeling as if his heart were flying away from him. "You really… you _want_ me?"

Jimmy nodded. "Now you're on the trolley, _Christ._"

Despite Jimmy's tone Thomas could feel a fine tremor running through him, and knew it had taken everything Jimmy had to kiss him like that. He must have been very frightened, and then, very brave.

Thomas's heart lit up like Christmas, and he drew Jimmy closer and kissed his ear. "Jimmy, I love you, always have—I never could stop even when I wanted to."

Oh, it was such a relief to say those words.

Jimmy made a little sound, and Thomas couldn't tell if he were crying or not. "Me too," he said, and his voice cracked. "But now I can't even _touch_you."

"Serves you right," Thomas laughed. "You don't run _into_ a fire, dummy."

"You did, same as me!" Jimmy accused.

"Only because you were there first—"

Jimmy laughed, blinking away tears. "Oh, damn, just kiss me again, Thomas. _Please_."

So Thomas did.


End file.
